


Running On Empty

by ohhstark



Category: GLOW (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Season 3 fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22644802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhstark/pseuds/ohhstark
Summary: He pulls over as soon as she’s out of his rear-view mirror. He has to pull over because his hands are shaking and he can’t get a full breath. He opens the car door to get some Goddamn air. He half tumbles out of the car, the asphalt still warm beneath his hands and his vision strobes.
Relationships: Sam Sylvia/Ruth Wilder
Comments: 1
Kudos: 39





	Running On Empty

It was easy Before. Before the lingering looks. Before things left unsaid. Before Russell fucking Barroso. Before the crack of her bones on live television and his fingers shaking on the laces of her boots. Before she grabs his wrist under a pretense to check the time. Before she slips into his hot tub just like she’d slipped under his skin. Just like he wished she’d let him slip under hers. 

Ruth Wilder is perky on the best of days, fucking uptight on the worst, and he had a line Before. A line that clearly marked the boundary between Perky Ruth and Uptight Ruth. A line that marked when he hated her and when he almost didn’t. Now, it’s all fucked up, the line broken-edged and jagged, twisting in on itself. He used to know where that line was. Now, he doesn’t. 

He doesn’t know when it started, only that he can’t figure out a time when he didn’t feel fit to bursting at the seams when she smiles at him. He doesn’t remember a time when he didn’t stay up at night thinking of the sunlight in her curls, of her quick wit, of the smell of her when they’d been pressed close during that stupid, brilliant, awful dance.

He doesn’t know when it started, but he knows damn well when it ended. The thing about acknowledging that there was a Before is now he has to admit that there is an After. After she said she loved him. After they kissed. After he let himself admit just how much he wanted this, wanted her. After they stood on a sidewalk and he blasted a hole through everything. 

He pulls over as soon as she’s out of his rear-view mirror. He has to pull over because his hands are shaking and he can’t get a full breath. He opens the car door to get some Goddamn air. He half tumbles out of the car, the asphalt still warm beneath his hands and his vision strobes. His stomach turns and before he knows it, he’s throwing up the meager contents of his stomach. 

“Jesus Christ,” someone says as they walk past on the opposite side of the street. “Had too much to drink, buddy? It’s not even 6 yet.”

“Fuck you,” he wheezes as he leans back against his car, the metal digging into the middle of his back. 

“Sam!” 

The shout is hysterical, the words bordering on a scream. He knows who it is, he knows, and he has to summon all his energy to lift his head. She is careening down the sidewalk, dodging the other pedestrians with a singular focus. Her expression is twisted, her cheeks tear-streaked, eyes bloodshot. She barely manages to catch herself as she falls prostrate before him, her hands trembling as she reaches between them. 

“Sam, Jesus, are you okay? Do we need-do we need to call an ambulance?” 

“Just need a second,” he says, still wheezing. It’s not a good look on him, he knows, and he closes his eyes to collect himself. He’s never truly felt his age with her until now, hunched over as he is and struggling to take a full breath.

“Are you sure?” she says, voice small as she puts the back of her hand to his forehead, as her other hand finds the spot under his jaw where his pulse beats out an uneven, thready tempo. “Sam, you should really-”

“No, Goddamnit. I’m not going to the fucking hospital again.”

It just slips out and the moment it does, he wishes he could take it back. He can practically feel the cogs in her head turning. He knows she’ll figure it out. She’s too fucking smart for her own good and he’s too far gone on her for his. 

“Again? Sam, what do you mean?” Her voice is rising in octave, her hands sliding down to where his are balled into fists in his lap. Her skin is warm and soft and it’s only then that he realizes that he is cold, that he is still shaking. “Why were you in the hospital?”

“They called it a ‘cardiac event.’” He says it with a laugh, just to be sure to emphasize the Not Serious nature of the thing. “It happened a couple months ago.” 

The silence that follows his admission is so thick he could carve through it with a knife. Her hands spasm over his and he’s sure that she’s going to pull away, that she’s going to leave him sitting in his own vomit like the worthless piece of shit that he is. And that will be that. He’ll never see her again. He’ll never get to fix this, whatever _this_ is. 

“Why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you tell m-me?” she says instead. He’s so surprised that he opens his eyes and fixes her with a wry, almost-smile that makes her lip tremble. She doesn’t pull away under the force of his gaze, just tucks herself into his side and slips an arm around his waist. She is shaking against him, her breath coming short and uneven against the side of his neck. 

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t there for you and I’m-I’m sorry, Sam. You could have died and I was just....” She starts to pull away after that and he finally manages to move. He grabs her wrist and presses their hands to his chest. She stares at their hands for a second and then turns the full force of her impossibly blue eyes on him. It’s like a sledgehammer to the heart. It crashes through him and he’s sure that he’s having another heart attack, and then she smiles at him. It’s sad and wistful and full of regret and he’s fought too God damn hard for her for this to be their end. 

He tries again, clearing his throat and adjusting himself so he’s not craning his neck to look at her, aware of the vomit on the street as he moves his legs around it.

“Hey, my timing back there was shit,” he says and it’s like bearing his heart for her again, like offering himself up to her on a silver platter. He hates it, hates that vague itching beneath his skin that tells him to _run, run, fucking run_. “But don’t use that as an excuse to fuck this up before it’s even started. I love you and I know I don’t deserve you, but I don’t care anymore. I’m tired of lines. I’m tired of keeping you in your box. I’m just tired.”

It’s a cruel parody of the words she’d said to Debbie all those months ago in the hospital, and it has the desired effect. She blinks and bows her head. Her lip trembles and her hand twists in his shirt. 

“I’m tired too,” she says. His breath stutters out of him and he knows he’s a goner as soon as she looks up at him through her eyelashes.

“I’m sorry I was such a Kuntar back there,” she says, utterly destroying the moment. The laugh that tumbles out of him makes a woman walking by jump. She shoots the dirtiest look their way. He grins, not caring even a little bit. 

“You are such a Kuntar,” he says, leaning forward to press his forehead against hers. She just grins at him and threads her fingers through his hair. 

“So, re-do?” 

“Fuck yeah,” he says. 

And they do.

**Author's Note:**

> So I marathoned Glow this weekend, and I have a LOT of feelings about Sam/Ruth, obviously. 
> 
> Here is my first attempt at writing for these two idiots. Hope you liked it.


End file.
